


Through Her Eyes

by spacefucker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, F/F, F/M, M/M, charcater study, tony lives in a cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacefucker/pseuds/spacefucker
Summary: Tony has had enough and is ready to turn his back on SI and the Avengers to retreat into the solitude of the woods. What he doesn't know is what lurks in the shadows right at the edge of perception; Loki paces that fine line, prowling the massive wood in search of something lost. What will he do when he finds it in the rough, caloused hands of the infamous Tony Stark?





	1. Chapter 1

Science is a gift. The stuff dreams are made of; miracles made known and explained within an inch of its godly makeup. Anything revealed to be outside the scope of conceivable reason at any given time is heralded as magic. It’s met with wonder, curiosity, and disdain. Questions begging to be asked and understanding waiting to be found – magic is science. Simply, things only maintain their fantastical nature until explained. Things are only awe-inspiring so long as they continue to be shrouded in mystery and speculation.

This is the only religion Tony Stark subscribed to whole-heartedly and with reckless abandon. Unlike most, however, Tony finds himself marveling science regardless of its clinical explanations. To Tony, science has always been magic and it never ceases to be no matter how easy the explanation is because, and this has been the case for as far back as he can remember, everything feels like a miracle.

Or so it had for a large part of his childhood. To be sure, there is always going to be that spark of astonishment over the simplest things but over years and years of an emotionally distant and physically abusive father, the bright flash of curiosity has all but been squashed. Reverence for knowledge – a soft, quiet thing that renders you speechless in the face of each new phenomenon – was harshly stamped out. His father doesn’t appreciate science like he does. For Howard, science is a tool. It’s only good for making a means to an end. Everything was about war.

And so his legacy, the only thing his father ever gave him, is the cold detachment of making weapons of war. His name is no longer associated with his achievements with AI and his success at MIT but, rather, is grossly overshadowed by his new identity: The Merchant of Death.

That name will always leave him sick. Like a heavy stone sunk into his stomach, making each whisper and shout hit him like an almost physical blow. He feels like a liar. Sometimes when he looks into the mirror he can see himself as he used to be and mourns who he was, cursing his father for leaving him an empire of pain, greed, and death to keep him company.

But now his brand as this dark harbinger of annihilation is something he tries to wear like he’s proud of it – like it’s who he wants to be. Acting proud and flaunting his savagery with a smirk and a smart turn of phrase always leaves a bitter taste in his mouth lingering just enough, sharp and insistent, that the only reprieve is to fight it back with an equally harsh mouthful of whiskey. And with each disappearing bottle and signed warrant of death Tony begins to feel less like himself and more like his father. Almost like some perverse possession – a haunting where his father can still warp and mold Tony from the grave.

Then Tony Stark shocks the world and leaves Stark Industries entirely.

He handles his affairs first, of course. Pepper is left in control, something he’d always planned to do anyway. Her hands are more than capable and Tony couldn’t be more thrilled to have someone at the helm that he can trust above a shadow of a doubt that she will carry out his wishes to never have another piece of Stark Tech play a hand as the grim reaper. Which brings him to the shock and outrage following his announcement to pull weapons development entirely and break his contract with the US government.

Tony has his fans, peacekeepers and anti-war crusaders with a good handful of people who’ve followed him since his debut at MIT. There are people that support him and Tony tries to let that matter – tries to let it slowly make up for the rivers of blood that flow through his calloused hands. But all he can remember at night are the names of every village rendered to ash with weapons bearing his name. As he pulls away from SI and turns inward he can’t help but think that maybe the name will never wash away. He finds himself wondering if people associate his name now with his crimes and if that connection will ever be severed.

The question he finds himself asking every day is if it’s even possible to ever return to just Tony.

So he ignores the misplaced righteous fury of each war-monger that comes to his door and tries to make it through each day without worrying about another name being added to his long list of lives snuffed out.  
He still does work for the Avengers, tentatively and with great trepidation, because while it seems like they’re the good guys, Tony knows that any position can look right depending on where you’re standing. Power is a dangerous thing and the last thing he wants is to be blindsided again by a betrayal. It wouldn’t take much for the Avengers to turn for the worse. It’s a line he feels they teeter on uncertainly far too often.

Ultron happens shortly thereafter and Tony feels the weight of the whole world crushing him. When it’s all over and done with Tony sits in his room, alone, at the foot of his bed and looks over his hands with a hawk-like intensity. Lines cross his palms and crisscross one another like canyons. His fingers flex and his rough-hewn hands crinkle and stretch like hardened leather across his knuckles and not for the first time he wonders if everything he makes is destined to destroy.

Disaster continues to strike like a poised snake, ready to poison and consume in entirety, and the deep well of helplessness grows. Sokovia happens and it’s hard to act surprised because as far as Tony’s concerned, death clings to the group like a shroud of shadow and with a sick, sinking feeling Tony realizes that this is likely to happen again.

After Steve’s betrayal in Siberia and the harsh, brutal fight between him and the two super soldiers of fame and legend Tony is feeling more and more like there’s no actual point. He lays there, faceplate up and cracked, arc reactor sputtering to death in his suit and watches Steve’s back as he shoulders the man who killed his family, limping out of the compound and into gale-force winds and snow. The concrete beneath him is like ice and burns with an aching intensity, just enough bite to root him in the moment, and it’s then that Tony decides This Is It.

The moment of clarity hits him hard and the dead silence of the abandoned building matched by the soft muffling of snow reminds him of the cold, bone-deep quiet of the wormhole he’d flown into what felt like eons ago.

The Avengers aren’t listening to him anymore. As far as he’s concerned they all think he’s an egotistical bastard with no actual claim to the mantle of ‘Hero’. There’s no use in fighting anymore. He’s tired, so tired, that the last thing he could possibly handle would be another mistake on his hands.

So while he clunks noisily through the compound on backup power and luck he begins taking his armor off like snake skin, leaving everything underneath gasping for breath and drinking in the crisp, frigid air. Metal folds back like a flower greeting the morning sun and he steps out if it, one shaking leg at a time, and finds his footing at the threshold of compound and the outside world.

He greets the freezing breeze with a slightly manic smile and basks in his New Beginning. 

-

“You’re leaving.” Rhodey asks but ends up sounding more like a statement. “Just like that?” He raises an eyebrow and levels Tony with a look, arms shaking with excursion while he balances himself between two support bars, legs close to useless beneath him.

Tony’s mouth twists into a frown, “You make it sound like I’m disappearing off to some island for a vacation. I’m just moving out of the city.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey scoffs, “into some little Podunk town on the far side of the state, man.” 

“I like the location.”

Rhodey cuts him a look, “You like the isolation.”

“You know me best.” Tony says, flashing a smile and then, seriously, and with all the heaviness he feels across his shoulders, says, “I’m tired. So, so very tired. I don’t want to be Tony Stark anymore.”

Rhodey inches along the bar and doesn’t try to hide his pained face and harsh winces, “Tired of what?” 

“Everything.” Tony says, simply.  
“Explain.”

He sighs and looks at a clock hanging over Rhodey’s head, absently keeping an eye on the time, “I’m tired of being a part of destruction. I can’t sleep most nights because I feel hunted by the ghost of every person whose blood I have on my hands. I need to do some good, James, and the best way to do that is to do nothing at all.”

“What will they do without you?” 

“They’ll manage.”

Rhodey makes it to the end and sighs heavily, sweat collecting on his brow, “What about the suit? Yours and mine?”

“You’ll keep yours and I will fix and upgrade it but only on the condition you use it as defense only. I can’t let you use my technology to terrorize villages.”

Rhodey sighs, “They’re not going to like this.” He says, referring to the military. 

Tony shrugs, “They don’t have to.” 

“You’re really serious about this?” 

“Yes.”

There’s a heavy silence and Tony tries to deny the anxious feeling rising in the back of his throat, almost tickling him to cough nervously. Rhodey is eyeing him, gaze focused and calculating. Tony swallows back the growing anxiety and holds his breath. He could care less about anyone else but Rhodey and Pepper matter and their opinions hold more sway then they probably know.

“I think it’s good for you.” Rhodey says suddenly before motioning for help in sitting down. Tony lowers him into a soft chair while Rhodey lets out a soft groan before standing back and looking down at his friend. He speaks up again from the chair, “I only ever wanted you to be happy, Tony. Seeing you cut up like this – beaten down over the last several years – it genuinely relieves me to see you taking care of yourself.”

Tony is taken aback, “That’s not what I thought you’d say.”

“What?” Rhodey laughs. “You thought that my main prerogative was to keep you around for your money and your brains? No. Don’t get me wrong, I love your big brain, but I love it because I love you. Your well-being and health is important to me. If anything, I’d say this was long overdue.”

“I’m still going to fix you.” Tony promises and then hastily adds, “Not that you need fixing. I just wanted to help. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

“This is my own damn fault. I’m a grown ass man and can make my own decisions and mine was to follow you. Don’t take that away from me.”

Tony’s mouth twists into an apologetic grimace, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s no big thing.” Rhodey quips, folding his arms across his chest and looking up at him with a fond smile. “You know, being out in the woods for a while will be good for you. Lord knows you could use some fresh air and a break from your lab.”

Tony places a hand on his chest in a mockingly affronted gesture, “Fresh air? The very idea! No, my dear sugar cookie, I still plan to tinker.”

-

Somewhere deep in a forest Loki walks amongst the tall trees with the quiet gracefulness of smoke. And like the gentle curl of smoke, he weaves through trees on silent feet, eyes sharp and mouth in a hard line. The heat of the summer beats down upon his brow, kissing his pale skin with warm light, and sends the hues of his hair dancing through a beat of deep blues, purples, and black.

For all his gracefulness and coiled tightness of a snake ready to strike he looks unsure, unsteady. Like he’s lost and has yet to figure out which way home is. Frustration is clear across his sharp features, casting harsh shadows across his angular face. Animals flee before his purposeful stride and birds quiet as he passes. Loki walks with a veil of danger and cunning draped about him and finds some pleasure in the way he disrupts the life around him.

His demeanor gives nothing away to the storm of emotion he feels bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. Worry, thick and insistent pulses through him like blood as it beats relentlessly throughout his veins. Tension leaves him feeling ice cold as he fights the haze of panic just enough to keep his footsteps steady.  
His magic has not worked on Midgard for some time and not for the first time Loki curses himself for his knack for depending heavily on something that could so easily be taken away. He tries to chase the last remnants of his magic in his mind, immersing in the deep, dark pool of potential within himself and finds nothing.

Loki curses and comes to a stop, stock-still and radiating anxiousness as thinly-veiled anger. 

He’s lost her.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony decides to drive to the cabin.

He takes an old pick up because it isn’t ostentatious like his other cars and it has the added benefit of hauling things. It’s old and rickety in the way that old men are. The truck has a personality, all spitfire and attitude, backfiring every once in a while like a gunshot.

The cab of the white monstrosity is filled with Tony’s things – things he may or may not need – and is all covered in a layer of gas station chips and beef jerky. An extra-large cup of coffee balances precariously in the cup holder in constant danger of upturning with each sharp pull of the wheel and regardless of consequences Tony still takes every curve as close to breakneck speed as he can.

His fingers are dusted with cheddar and sour cream flavoring and he sucks the powder off his fingers while fiddling with the radio and tries to ignore the lingering taste of oil that seems to have permeated his hands. The radio fazes in and out of crackling stations with static in between and Tony decides on a scratchy rock station and settles into his seat to the comforting first few notes of a Metallica guitar solo. His fingers drum on the steering wheel idly while he squints behind rose-colored sun glasses into the sunset as it begins its decent bellow the horizon.

It’s freeing in more ways than one, being on the road. Driving has always been a love of Tony’s and while flying definitely takes the cake, driving is a close second. He can feel each bump in the road and the rumble of a powerful engine beneath his fingertips and with the windows down and the warm summer air whipping his hair around his face he finally feels himself relaxing.

Like all good things the drive comes to a close, stopping at the end of a long dirt driveway forty-five minutes from the nearest highway. Getting into town will be time consuming but he’s not exactly ever going to be in a hurry to get anywhere.

The cabin itself sits a few hundred feet from the edge of a lake. The water is dark and deep, the rough gravel beach disappearing into the murky water before turning into a drop-off deep enough to lose yourself in. The water is cool year round, never warming with the heavy summer heat, and is more than inviting enough for Tony to consider taking a dip once he gets his things inside.  
Never has he ever been to this place by himself. It holds too many memories, all of them settled just beneath the surface, waiting for him to open the door to spill out into the open and wrap him up in a blanket of nostalgia. This was his mother’s place. Her favorite spot that felt the most like home. Contrary to the extravagance of his life this cabin had always been his favorite. Its quaint style and size perfect for the warmth of close quarters and sunlit afternoons.

He shifts into park and turns off the truck, forgoing his things for a moment so as to walk through his past unburdened. But, upon reaching the heavy wooden door chipped with age and the color of his mother’s favorite dark beer he realizes that it’s unlocked. The key turning uselessly to shift a deadbolt that isn’t locked.

Apprehension, thick and coursing through him like ice fills his veins and he stills, assessing his options. He’s surely announced his presence already with the loud rumbling of his truck and his trek to the door. He strains, leaning in ever so slightly to the thick door and tries to listen for the barest of sounds. He hears nothing but the light whistling of birds and the undercurrent of cicadas and takes a step back to look at the front-facing windows only to find the curtains drawn tight and no lights on.

He pulls a thick bracelet from his pocket and slips it on his wrist, calibrating it and pulling it over his hand in one smooth motion to reveal a small once-and-done repulsor and enters the cabin.

It’s dark and dry, littered with dust and filled with stale air. Whoever is here, if anyone, hasn’t been here long. He closes the door behind him and gives his eyes a minute to adjust from the dying light of day to the black of the room. Tony takes the moment to listen again, straining his ears for the barest of sounds and is hard pressed to hear anything over his own heartbeat.

Everything looks the way it did when he’d been here last. His own blueprints from childhood are still pinned to the fridge in a rare show of pride. It’s more than a little heartbreaking to see. His mother had always been supportive but never once was able to be as open with her affection if Howard was around. His father was a tyrant, lording over the both of them with a sharp tongue and the back of his hand.

There’s a sudden thud from the back room and Tony is put on high alert once again. His whole body tenses as he moves forward, knees cracking slightly with the stress of his half-crouch and muscles bunch close to quivering.

The hall is short and ends with a door slightly open. A small whimper filters out into the hallway and is so quiet Tony’s almost sure he’s imagined it. He presses forward, nevertheless, and jumps into the room quick and posed, hands up and ready to fight.

Instead of a threat, though, there’s a child.

She’s slight, thin as a reed and shaking like a leaf. Her eyes are bright, green, and terrified. Unshed tears glisten in her eyes as she sits in the corner of the room, legs pulled up to her chest and her arms about her legs like a vice. Red hair, vibrant and ethereal, curls around her face like a cloud and offsets the dark smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Cheekbones sit high on her faces beneath wide, expressive eyes and over a small chin and Tony shakes off the feeling that her features aren’t quite right.

Heavy silence is weighted between the two of them and with his threat assessment coming back in the green he lowers his hand, powers down his gauntlet, and squats slowly to come eye-to-eye with the little girl in his cabin.

He starts by speaking low and calm, “Hey.” He begins and then wets his dry lips, “I’m Tony. What’s your name?”

The little girl starts at the sound of his voice but stays still, eyes tracking wildly over Tony’s face while her little fingers clench and unclench against her legs.

“Are you out here by yourself?” He tries, deciding to sit instead of squatting. “Where are your parents?” 

She speaks then, almost too quiet for him to hear, “I’m lost.”

He smiles a little and nods, “Do you live near here?”

Her red hair swings about her face as she shakes her head. Tony nods and purses his lips, thinking. This cabin is remote. Most people don’t know it even exists, let alone come out here in the first place. He can’t even begin to imagine how a child her age managed to get this far out in the middle of nowhere without anyone to look after her.

“Vara.” She whispers and Tony starts, focusing on her again. 

“Vara?” He asks, tilting his head. “Is that your name?”

She nods slowly and her arms loosen about her legs a bit. It’s then that Tony notices her dress. It’s a beautiful piece. It’s pink and yellow, soft in its pastel hue and shimmering with gold embroidery with flashes of silk. It reminds him of the type of thing someone would wear to a renaissance festival. The quality looks excellent but the poor thing is half torn to shreds and soiled in places with water and dirt.

“How do you feel about coming into town with me? Maybe we can find your parents.” She shakes her head so vehemently he’s worried she’ll strain her neck. He puts his hands up, placating, and nods in understanding. “Ok, we don’t have to go anywhere.”

His mind is already running probabilities. He’ll have to call the authorities, which means people coming up to the cabin and getting in the way. He frowns and tries to think his way through how to handle it.

It’s while he’s lost in thought that she speaks up again, “Can I stay?”

Tony focuses back in on her tiny face, so open and frightened that it hit him low in the gut with the powerful need to protect her. He nods without thought, relishing in the small, grateful smile she gives in return.

“You can stay.” He cements. “We’ll figure this out, ok?”  
He stands, offering his hand out to her slowly and waits patiently while she grabs it with no small amount of trepidation. Tony hauls her carefully to her feet and scratches his goatee with his other hand, thinking.  
“Before we do anything else, let’s get some food in us, yeah?”

-

A crow lands atop the cabin while the night sky fades to black and the stars blink into view one-by-one. There’s a breeze rolling across the lake, rippling water in its wake, before buffeting up against the hewn wood of the cabin. The bird cocks its head and blinks its eyes once, twice, three times before a second set open above the first. Its eyes flash, opalescent obsidian shocked with a deep, visceral blue.

The twists its head to the side and listens intently. 

She’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki will be involved soon.

**Author's Note:**

> The pairing I never thought I'd write.


End file.
